


His Favorite Room

by 17stepstobakerstreet



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Gen, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22306525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/17stepstobakerstreet/pseuds/17stepstobakerstreet
Summary: “Why do you need to die?” Culverton asked, leaning in over Sherlock’s bed ever so slightly.“The mortuary,” Sherlock explained after a few seconds of silence, “your favorite room.” Culverton smiled slightly, in disbelief, as everything began to make sense to him. “You talk to the dead. You make your confession to them.”
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	His Favorite Room

Culverton Smith walked leisurely down the secret hallway that he had built into his hospital, running his hand against the wall with appreciation. What a good idea they had been, the hidden walkways, that helped him whenever he had the urge to participate in his favorite hobby. The idea to build them had been a genius one, and he was still patting himself on the back for it. Countless secret doors and hallways, all leading to countless hospital rooms with countless victims, just waiting for him to slip in and end them, unknowingly awaiting their doom.

He reached the door he had been looking for and tamped down his excitement as he moved forward to push it open. What a wonderful time this was going to be. He could almost taste the fear on his tongue already, could nearly feel the weakening heartbeat under his careful hands. Killing was always a thrill, always gave him the fix he needed, but he doubted that anything would ever be able to top what he was about to do.

When he had successfully slipped into the room and shut the door noiselessly behind him, he finally let the excitement take over as he rested his eyes on the weak, beaten form of Sherlock Holmes, lying helplessly in the hospital bed in front of him. He couldn’t help it; a smile bloomed over his face, the ugly, twisting show of teeth that always managed to slip past his careful mask whenever he knew that he was about to kill.

He sat down in a chair next to the bed and waited. He could rush this, wake up Sherlock and kill him right away, or even slip him a fast-acting poison in his sleep. Slip out of the room. But no, oh no, this was special, and Culverton wasn’t about to make it go faster than it was already going to seem. His blood thrummed excitedly in his veins as he held completely still, staring hungrily at Sherlock as he waited for the man to wake up. _Then, the show begins…_

It took all of five minutes for Sherlock to wake up, and when he spotted Culverton, he only narrowed his eyes at the man, throwing all the malice he felt into one look. Culverton couldn’t contain his excitement, and smiled once again, his lips curling viciously. “How’d you get in?” Sherlock asked, his voice gruff from disuse, his lips cracking uncomfortably. Standing up, Culverton started pacing slowly around the room, throwing his pent up energy and excitement into something, anything other than what he was itching to do. _Patience_ , he told himself, _and all will be how you want it to be._ He smiled wider and fiddled with a piece of medical equipment in the room before turning to face Sherlock.

“What? Because of the police outside?” Sherlock nodded carefully, and Culverton moved his chair right next to Sherlock’s bed before sitting again. “Oh, come on, can’t you guess?” Culverton asked, tempting Sherlock with the question. He saw the gears turning in Sherlock’s brain, and gleefully thought, _all of that brainpower will be gone soon, and all of those neurons will be shut off._

“Secret door,” Sherlock whispered, staring at Culverton.

“I built this whole wing,” Culverton admitted, joy lacing his voice. “Kept firing the architect and builder, so no one knew quite how it all fitted together. I can slip in and out,” he said, leaning back in his seat, crossing his legs. “Anywhere I like, you know. When I get the urge.” He smiled that disgusting smile at Sherlock, thinking about all the ways he could put a stop to his heart. It was intoxicating, the idea of murdering the man who had been so adamant about stopping him, and Culverton could barely hold himself back from standing up and strangling Sherlock on the spot.

“Now, Sherlock Holmes,” Culverton said, leaning in towards Sherlock, “why are you here? It’s like you walked into my den and laid down right in front of me. Why?” Culverton knew the answer. He had thought about the answer for hours on end, grinning to himself, knowing that he had Sherlock right where he wanted him. But it was going to be so much better if he could hear it from the man’s own lips. 

“You know why I’m here.”

“I’d like to hear you say it,” he said with his crooked smile, leaning in even closer. “Say it for me please.”

The room was silent for a few seconds before Sherlock looked into his eyes and said, “I want you to kill me.” Culverton felt his blood rush through his veins once again, and his eyes grew fierce and ugly. Sherlock then gestured to his drip-bag and said, “Increase the dosage, four, five times, and the toxic shock should shut me down within an hour.” Culverton stood up and walked over to the machine, taking his coat off in the process.

“Then I’ll restore the settings,” he said calmly, reaching over to run his fingers over the buttons. “Everyone assumes that it was a fault, or… you just gave up the ghost.” Culverton made eye contact with Sherlock once again, and Sherlock nodded.

“Yes.” Sherlock’s voice was raspy, and Culverton could tell there was fear in his eyes.

“You’re rather good at this,” Culverton said, and then saw Sherlock’s fist clenched slightly. _Doesn’t like being compared to a murderer, eh? People must think him one all of the time. A pity, really._ He moved to press a button, but changed his mind at the last second and turned back to Sherlock, hands still on the machine.

“Before we start, tell me how you feel.” Culverton loosened the cuffs of his shirt, while occasionally glancing at Sherlock, waiting for a response. 

“I…” Sherlock said, staring at the ceiling, “I feel scared.” Culverton chuckled slightly, still fiddling with his shirt cuffs.

“Be more specific,” he said, smiling to himself, “you only get to do this the once.” He waited, again, for a response, and was given one quicker this time.

“Scared of dying.” Culverton could really hear the fear slipping into Sherlock’s voice, and he inhaled deeply as if he could smell it. He almost could. 

“You wanted this though,” Culverton reasoned with him. 

“I have reasons.”

“But you don’t actually want to die.”

“No,” Sherlock said, his voice shaking. His eyebrows furrowed, and Culverton Smith laughed once more.

“Good. Say that for me.” This part was the only one that could ever come close to the killing. When the victims were scared, and they pleaded with him, begging him not to kill them, telling him that they weren’t ready to die yet, that they didn’t want to. He always smiled through it, knowing that their cries were falling on deaf ears. That they were useless. “Say it,” he prompted again after the room went silent.

“I don’t want to die.” It was said quickly as if he wanted to get the words out and over with. But the fear was still there, and bloody hell did the admission give him a little burst of joy. The great consulting detective himself, laying here at my mercy, telling me that he doesn’t want to die. 

Culverton started rolling up the cuffs of his shirt around his elbows. “And again.”

“I don’t want to die,” Sherlock said again, slower this time, his voice cracking slightly. Culverton glanced over, and to his enjoyment, Sherlock’s eyes were starting to become glassy with tears, his lips trembling ever so slightly.

“Once more for good luck,” he prodded softly, wanting to hear the helpless voice just once more.

“I don’t want to die.” Sherlock was on the verge of crying now. Culverton leaned over him ever so slightly, memorizing the fear on his face, the tears in his eyes. “I don’t…” Sherlock choked out softly, “I don’t want to die.” Culverton stopped inches away from Sherlock’s nose and grinned.

“Lovely,” he said, pulling himself away from the trembling man on the bed. “Here it comes.” He reached up and pressed a few buttons on the machine, raising Sherlock’s dose of whatever was in his drip-bag to a dangerous level. He would be dead within the hour.

“So tell me,” Culverton said, strolling slowly around Sherlock’s bed, “why are we doing this? To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“I wanted to hear your confession,” Sherlock said, all traces of fear gone from his voice. Culverton Smith’s eyebrows furrowed, and Sherlock smiled slightly. “Needed to know I was right.” Culverton’s expression morphed into one of even more confusion. 

“Why do you need to die?” Culverton asked, leaning in over Sherlock’s bed ever so slightly. 

“The mortuary,” Sherlock explained after a few seconds of silence, “your favorite room.” Culverton smiled slightly, in disbelief, as everything began to make sense to him. “You talk to the dead. You make your confession to them.” Culverton walked away slightly, chuckling softly to himself. A few more seconds of silence, and then: “Why do you do it?” It’s a simple question really, and Culverton had been itching to tell a living person the answer for ages. _Not that he’s going to be alive for much longer…_

“Why do I kill?” Sherlock nods. “It’s not about hatred or revenge. I’m not a dark person. Killing human beings…” He trails off for a second, then chuckles to himself. “It just makes me… ah. Incredibly happy,” he said, still interrupting himself with dark, biting laughter. Sherlock glares at him and he just grins and grins, standing up to move closer to his bedside.

“You know, in films, when you see dead people, pretending to be dead, and it’s just living people lying down?” Sherlock says nothing, and Culverton just shakes his head, leaning on Sherlock’s bed. “That’s not what dead people look like. Dead people look like things. I like to make people into things. Then you can own them,” he says in a whisper, his eyes staring off into the distance. 

“You know what?” Culverton says, standing up suddenly. “I’m getting a little impatient.” He lowered Sherlock’s bed down until he was flat, relishing in the panicked looks taking over his face. Clenching and unclenching his fists, Culverton moves to the other side of Sherlock’s bed, stopping at his head. He looks down at the man in fake sympathy before saying, “Take a deep breath if you want to.” Sherlock looked confused for a second, and that confusion turned into panic when Culverton pressed a hand against his mouth, and another against his nose, blocking all of his airways.

“Murder is a very difficult addiction to manage,” Culverton grits out, holding a thrashing Sherlock down against the hospital bed. “People don’t realize how much work goes into it. You have to be careful.” Sherlock fought with him, trying to push his hands aside, face turning a concerning shade of red. _Any second now…_

“But if you’re rich, or famous and loved,” he continued as Sherlock’s movements started to turn groggy and weak, “it’s amazing what people are prepared to ignore.” The panic in Sherlock’s eyes increased tenfold when he realized his body had gone slack and he couldn’t fight back anymore. Culverton grinned and only pressed down harder, his blood singing. “There’s always someone desperate about to go missing, and no one is supposed to suspect murder if it’s easier to suspect something else.” He leaned down close to Sherlock, whispering into his ear, “Unexpected, huh? I slipped a little bit of a tranquilizer into your drip-bag hours ago, only enough to ensure you couldn’t fight.” He straightened up once more and continued with his spiel.

“I just have to ration myself, choose the right heart to stop.” He could feel Sherlock’s life slowly dripping out of him, and he just grinned and pressed down harder, feeling the pulsing blood under Sherlock’s reddened skin. “And yours,” he whispered, “has been on my list for a very, very long time.” He leaned in closer. “Maintain eye contact. Maintain eye contact,” he said, not trying to hide the joy lacing his voice for any longer. Sherlock was slipping, slipping, slipping, and soon he would be gone.

“I like to watch it happen.” Sherlock’s eyes were glassy, his face was unnaturally colored, and he was visibly straining, trying to get his useless limbs to obey him, to help him fight off this man that had taken it upon himself to be his own personal death. Nothing worked. “And off we pop,” Culverton said softly, leaning in to take in all the details of this murder. His _favorite_ murder. 

The monitor started beeping faster and faster, and a laugh, ugly and manic, spilled out of Culverton’s mouth as he saw Sherlock’s eyes unfocus, as the life started slowly dripping out of him. Tears rolled down his cheeks, which spurred on Culverton laughing even more. 

Laughing. 

Beeping. 

Crying. 

It carried on, until, as if in a great crescendo, the beeping of the monitor leveled off. 

Flatline. 

Culverton cackled madly, the endorphins from killing Sherlock flooding his veins, overtaking his brain in a wave of joy. He stayed for a few seconds, admiring the limp, empty shell of Sherlock Holmes, lying on the bed as if asleep. Culverton slipped out of the room, tucking the murder into the back of his mind, his hands still shaking from the adrenaline rush.

If he had cared to stay behind, just to listen, for even a few seconds, he would have heard John Watson burst into the room. He would have heard the guttural yell rip out of his throat, heard the sobs that shook his shoulders with an intensity that he was not unused to, as he saw his best friend, dead, for the second time in his life. Except, this time, he knew for certain he was never going to get him back again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading!! If you enjoyed this, please don't hesitate to leave me a kudos and a comment, they help me thrive!!


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